The start was made during the gathering dusk.Sponsilier further lifted the spirits of our employer, as we rode along, by a clear-cut description of the opposition cattle, declaring that had they ever equaled ours, the handling they had received since leaving Ogalalla, compared to his, would class them with short twos in the spring against long threes in the fall.Within an hour the stars shone out, and after following the river some ten miles, we bore directly north until Beaver Creek was reached near midnight.The pace was set at about an eightmile, steady clip, with an occasional halt to tighten cinches or shift saddles.The horses were capable of a faster gait without tiring, but we were not sure of the route and were saving them for the finish after daybreak.Early in the night we were conscious that a frost was falling, and several times Sponsilier inquired if no one cared for a nip from his bottle.Bob Quirk started the joke on Dave by declining; old man Don uncorked the flask, and, after smelling of the contents, handed it back with his thanks.I caught onto their banter, and not wishing to spoil a good jest, also declined, leaving Sponsilier to drink alone.During the night, whenever conversation lagged, some one was certain to make reference to the remarks which are said to have passed between the governors of the Carolinas, or if that failed to provoke a rise, ask direct if no one had something to ward off the chilly air.After being refused several times, Dave had thrown the bottle away, meeting these jests with the reply that he had a private flask, but its quality was such that he was afraid of offending our cultivated tastes by asking us to join him.
Day broke about five in the morning.We had been in the saddle nearly ten hours, and were confident that sunrise would reveal some landmark to identify our location.The atmosphere was frosty and clear, and once the gray of dawn yielded to the rising sun, the outline of the Yellowstone was easily traced on our left, while the bluffs in our front shielded a view of the mother Missouri.In attempting to approach the latter we encountered some rough country and were compelled to turn towards the former, crossing it, at O'Brien's roadhouse, some seven miles above the mouth.The husbanded reserves of our horses were shaken out, and shortly afterward smoke-clouds from camp-fires, hanging low, attracted our attentiop.The herds were soon located as they arose and grazed away from their bed-grounds.The outfits were encamped on the eastern side of the Yellowstone; and before leaving the government road, we sighted in our front a flag ascending to greet the morning, and the location of Fort Buford was established.Turning towards the cattle, we rode for the lower wagon and were soon unsaddling at Forrest's camp.The latter had arrived two days before and visited the post; he told us that the opposition were there in force, as well as our own attorneys.The arrival of the cattle under contract for that military division was the main topic of discussion, and Forrest had even met a number of civilian employees of Fort Buford whose duties were to look after the government beeves.The foreman of these unenlisted attaches, a Texan named Sanders, had casually ridden past his camp the day before, looking over the cattle, and had pronounced them the finest lot of beeves tendered the government since his connection with that post.
"That's good news," said Lovell, as he threw his saddle astride the front wheel of the wagon; "that's the way I like to hear my cattle spoken about.Now, you boys want to make friends with all those civilians, and my attorneys and Bob and I will hobnob around with the officers, and try and win the good will of the entire post.You want to change your camp every few days and give your cattle good grazing and let them speak for themselves.
Better kill a beef among the outfits, and insist on all callers staying for meals.We're strangers here, and we want to make a good impression, and show the public that we were born white, even if we do handle cattle for a living.Quince, tie up the horses for us, and after breakfast Bob and I will look over the herds and then ride into Fort Buford.--Trout for breakfast? You don't mean it!
It was true, however, and our appetites did them justice.Forrest reported Splann as having arrived a day late, and now encamped the last herd up the valley.Taking our horses with us, Dave and I set out to look up our herds and resume our former positions.Irode through Sponsilier's cattle while en route to my own, and remembered the first impression they had made on my mind,--their uniformity in size and smoothness of build,--and now found them fatted into finished form, the herd being a credit to any drover.
